


Mine, Only Mine

by herecstasy



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, The Addams Family (1991)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herecstasy/pseuds/herecstasy
Summary: Morticia and Gomez (as portrayed by Anjelica and Raul in the movies, albeit with some base introductory story ideas from the TV show). Shortly after their first meeting, through the torture of not being able to be together, and that blissful, stormy first night, at long last.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been 12 weeks since Gomez Addams had been left, not quite at the altar, but close to a month before his dreaded impending nuptials. His intended bride - through arrangement, not love - had left him for a ringmaster, following a trip to the local travelling circus. It was no great loss, truth be told. He hadn’t felt one iota of jealousy or rage, just relief. Relief for himself, yes, but also for her, that she had found a love match. Before he’d met Ophelia, he hadn’t known true love. He’d thought he had, but he now realised his previous conquests had been nothing more than a way to pass the time, pleasant though it may have been. But it wasn’t the blonde, vivacious Ophelia that had captured his heart, his mind, his soul, oh no. It was her sister. Raven-haired, red lipped, exquisite. From the second he had been introduced to his fiancée's sibling, he had been in constant mind-numbing pain, driven half-mad by his desire for her. Any excuse he could make to visit the Frump family home and catch just one glimpse of her as she glided by the door or glanced up at him through long lashes. Her gaze always seemed to follow the same path, taking in his whole body, feet to head, before alighting on his face, gazing at his lips perhaps a little too long, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Gomez knew this must all be in his head, his own wishful thinking to have her look at him that way, with even just a modicum of the lust he felt for her. But goddammit, believing Morticia Frump may feel the slightest fondness for him in return was the only thing that kept him going through each torturous day, until the sweet relief of the dark, cool night and his own bed, where his fantasies could run unchecked through his mind, and Morticia was his alone. 

 

After what he had considered a respectable time – Gomez was a true gentleman, and while many societal norms passed far outside the sphere of his own dark world, his manners were impeccable – Gomez had mustered up the courage to return to the Frump family home. In the 3 months since Ophelia had left him, his days had been filled with nothing but wild fantasies of his beloved Morticia. Indeed, that had been the case since before his engagement had been broken off, but now he felt free from guilt, knowing someone other than his arranged bride consumed his every waking moment – and of course, his dreams. Knocking on the imposing oak door to the Frump residence, he pondered what his opening gambit should be. Could he merely step over the threshold, pull Morticia into the first empty room he found, and profess his undying love for her, down on his knees, beating his chest? He wanted to, God knows, but he still retained some slight sense of propriety. Perhaps he would know what to do once he saw her beautiful face again. 12 weeks was far too long not to be in her presence. The door began to open, and he cleared his throat nervously. “May I please speak with Miss Morticia?,” he began, his words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them, before he had seen who it was who had opened the door. The housekeeper? Mr Frump? Dare he even hope, Morticia herself? 

 

“Who may I say is calling?” came an unfamiliar voice. Gomez looked up, and was taken slightly aback. A fellow he had never seen before stood in the doorway, a look of polite indifference on his face. “I, uh… Addams. Gomez Addams,” he managed to stutter. The stranger smiled and reached out a hand to shake Gomez’s. “Ah, Mr Addams. I’ve heard much about you. I am Philae Blackfield. Do come in.” Gomez frowned as he followed Philae into the house. He seemed far too much at home here, who was this man? He knew Ophelia was away still, travelling Europe with her new fiancé, and this man seemed too young to be an associate of Mr Frump’s. He wouldn’t allow himself to consider the next most likely scenario, his heart couldn’t bear it. But telling himself not to fathom an unpleasant idea is one thing… he couldn’t control those around him. Philae lead him into the family room and offered him a seat. How dare he. As if he were master of the house! At that moment, his Morticia, his whole reason for living, stepped into the room, curious as to who may have rang the bell. Gomez rose to his feet immediately, stepping forward to greet her, only to stop stock still, as if he had hit a brick wall. Philae, who had been nearer the door, had crossed quickly to Morticia’s side, and placed a kiss on her porcelain cheek. “My dear, I believe you know Mr Addams?,” he said politely, nodding in Gomez’s direction. Gomez still unable to move, having to remind himself to breathe, pulled himself from the depths of overwhelming despair that the sight of Morticia’s new paramour had plunged him into. He forced himself to step forward once again, his eyes unable to meet hers for fear he may scream aloud in desperation and distress. A brief brush of his lips against her delicate fingers; brief yes, but to him it lasted an eternity. At that moment, a familiar voice from the far side of the room caught his attention and he turned, grateful for the distraction. 

 

Mrs Frump had entered the room and crossed to the small group in the corner. “Gomez! How lovely to see you my dear. To what do we owe the pleasure?” she smiled warmly at her former son-in-law-to-be and ushered all three to join her on the couch. Gomez smirked as he noticed Morticia deliberately place herself seated to the side of her mother, leaving no room for Philae to sit next to her, relegating him instead to an arm chair. “It had been too long,” Gomez spoke honestly, his tone suggesting a genuine inclination to visit the whole family, of whom he must admit he was still inordinately fond. His break-up with Ophelia had been amicable, and he had seen no reason to treat the Frump family with anything but courtesy and fondness. He enquired after the health of Mr Frump, of the elder members of the family, even of their pets. Small talk was a gift to Gomez right now, affording him a distraction from his despair, and a mark of his upbringing. His resolve was shaken as Mrs Frump, blissfully unaware of Gomez’s torture, explained how the family were revisiting the arranged marriage idea that had so spectacularly failed only months beforehand. This time it was Morticia who was offered up to a suitor, and Philae was the lucky man, the son of an old acquaintance. Learning it was an arranged marriage, not a love match, was little comfort to poor Gomez, and how he ever managed to smile and nod his way through this painful discussion, he never knew. 

After a little while, Mrs Frump turned to her guest with a beaming smile. “Oh Gomez, you must attend our gathering this evening, we are having quite the affair. I believe you know one Hector Sickle? He is the son of Mr Frump’s business associate, and I have heard your family name mentioned more than once in conversation.” Gomez nodded blankly. Hector was his closest friend, his confidante since childhood. It would have been hard to refuse the invitation and no seem ungracious, but with Hector in attendance, Gomez may just be able to survive the evening. He would be able to cope – just – with seeing his beloved Morticia dance with the unworthy youth who would accompany her, he told himself, if only he had his dear friend to vent to afterwards. He set his jaw and replied courteously. “It would be my pleasure, Mrs Frump. Anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask. I shall see you all this evening. Good day Mrs Frump. Mr Blackfield. Miss Frump.” This last directed at Morticia, still standing next to Philae, her body stiffening a little as his hand came to rest possessively on her waist. Gomez scowled as he turned to take his leave, the sight of this imposter's hand on his darling’s hip. How dare he. Had he turned back at this point, he would have caught sight of her head tilting thoughtfully to the side, lost in contemplation; not because of Philae, but because of him. She was captivated by the animalistic gait as he stalked away from the house, barely concealing his turmoil at this latest unwelcome development. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was jealous. And if he were, wouldn’t that mean that he desired her? Please God, let him want her even half as much as she wanted him.


	2. Chapter 2

Gomez stepped into the softly-lit ballroom that dread evening, taking a drag on his cigar in an attempt to appear nonchalant. His eyes scanned the crowd, passing over the large dance-floor, lit by a thousand candles seemingly floating a few feet above head hight, several hundred more lining the antique tables around the room. He took in the bar in the corner, smiling as his gaze alighted on his dear friend Hector. At least there would be one person here this evening he could talk to without risking his sanity, what remained of it. He made for the bar, greeting Hector warmly. A quick glance round once more, what harm could it do, before he settled down for an evening of providing his friend with miserable company. What harm indeed. The second he saw her, he almost wished he hadn’t. She was ethereal, a dark shade of divinity itself, of course. But to see her wrapped in the arms of another, spun around the dance-floor as the string orchestra played… this was beyond unbearable now. He snarled as he took another look at his love-rival.

 

He was tall. Ungainly. Relatively good looking, Gomez grudgingly admitted. Thick brown hair worn too wild for Gomez’s taste. White skin. Unpleasantly pale, almost sickly in hue. Not the divine porcelain of Morticia. Her face almost glowed moonlight bright, the glimpses he could catch of her at least, as she was swept around the room, out of his sight for far too many seconds at a time. Even when she came back into view, her ebony tresses seemed to conspire against him, covering entirely too much of her face. Gomez burned both with desire for her, irrational hatred for her beau. Philae appeared to care superficially for Morticia, it is true. He treated her with an almost detached courtesy. Gomez almost wished Philae would turn out to be a cad, someone who might pose some danger to his beloved; then at least Gomez could rush in, demand Philae step aside so he could sweep Morticia up in his arms and lead to her away to safety. But alas, that was not to be. How dare he even think himself worthy to touch such a divine creature. Gomez also thought himself unworthy of Morticia’s touch, it is true, but he knew instinctively that Philae couldn’t feel one millionth of the love, lust, respect and longing for her that Gomez did. Growling angrily, he turned himself to the bar, jostling elbows with Hector, who had been perched upon a barstool, nursing a large rum and watching the expressions raging across Gomez’s face. A hot-blooded Spaniard, incapable of truly hiding his feelings about anything, Gomez wore his heart on his sleeve, and Hector smiled as he inclined his head in the direction of the object of his friend’s obvious desire. “Nice girl,” he said politely, sipping his drink. Gomez scowled at his own whiskey, loosened his bow tie, and merely grunted a reply.

 

“There’s just something about her eyes,” Hector said. Gomez spun on his chair to face Hector, nodding emphatically, a little more keenly than he perhaps should have, but fortunately his reaction went unnoticed as his friend continued. “So… cold. Unfeeling almost.” Gomez had already opened his mouth to respond in agreement to what he had been sure would be an admiring comment on what were arguably Morticia’s most beautiful, intoxicating feature. He had lost count of the number of times he had caught himself gazing at her face, those eyes in particular. They were captivating. He was enchanted by them, sometimes almost worried that he had been hypnotised, so fast did his heart race when his eyes alighted on hers, his mind unable to focus on anything beyond his innate, all-consuming desire for her. And on the odd occasion that she met his gaze, steady and with a half-smile playing around her lips… well, the word to describe the feelings that raced through him, it just hadn’t been invented yet. Nothing in English, Spanish nor any other language in existence could do them justice. “Cold?! Ha!” he let out an involuntary bark of amusement, earning himself several bewildered stares from nearby patrons. 

 

He lowered his tone, addressing only Hector this time. “Her eyes are beautiful, glorious, bewitching even! Perhaps it’s because her eyes are so dark, but I promise you my friend, there is nothing cold or unfeeling about Mor… Miss Frump.” He caught himself rather too late, at the very end of the sentence. Formalising her name somewhat was a vain attempt to hide the desperate tender affection that had sprung forth from him in her defence, at the mere thought of someone not seeing the exquisite beauty in her eyes, as he did. This was, of course, not lost on Hector, and he chuckled drily, shaking his head. “Oh my friend, what are we to do with you?” he smiled, fondly. Gomez had ‘fallen in love’ so often over the 17 years since they had become firm friends - smoking their first fine cigars at age 11, sitting on the wall of the local cemetery - that to watch in amusement as Gomez professed his love for a raven-haired beauty he had met only hours before, and then within a week to pick up the pieces as the budding relationship came to a halt; well it was an occupational hazard. But this time, something was different. He waved his hand in front of Gomez’s face but his friend was lost to him, to the room, to the whole world. Hector followed Gomez’s adoring gaze, knowing what he would see even before his eyes alighted on whatever had captivated his friend so. She was a rare beauty, Hector acknowledged to himself. Far beyond any of the girls Gomez had ever courted before. In looks, yes, but in bearing too. The way she moved was quite hypnotic. It had certainly entranced Gomez. Hector smiled once more and turned his attention back to the dingy bar at which he was sitting, nodding at the barkeep for a refill.


	3. Chapter 3

_‘Cold? Unfeeling?’_ Gomez thought to himself. _'Never. We cannot be looking at the same girl.'_ A further thought struck him at that moment, one that made him flush with a warmth quite unusual for him. Perhaps it wasn’t who they were looking at, but instead who Morticia was looking at. He narrowed his eyes slightly, focusing intently on his beloved. Maybe he could see it now, for the first time. Undeniably beautiful, her eyes, yes, but right now they seemed almost black. Could it be the lighting, perhaps a shadow? She was looking at the floor, not a single note of interest or excitement about her. She raised her head and scanned the room with her black jewelled eyes. Her gaze alighted on his, and he saw the change instantly. Although her face remained steady, almost sculptured, those dark jewels turned immediately to a divine chestnut brown. Gomez saw her scowl soften, her stare become a look of unabashed fondness and joy at the sight of him. Her whole body seemed to relax as she smiled at the handsome Castilian, in spite of the evident discomfort she felt on being held far too close by Philae. Dare he hope that he was perhaps the only man who could turn Morticia’s eyes from black and hard as coal to soft as velvet, flaming specks of gold dancing in her irises when she smiled. Gomez was in that trance again, that moment in time and space when he no longer cared what anyone saw him say or do, there was no-one but him and her. He had already taken a step forward onto the dance floor, towards her intoxicating form, when a shadow passed in front of her. That _tonto_ she was dancing with had positioned himself in Gomez’s eyeline again, his unworthy hands far too comfortable resting on Morticia’s delicate waist, his fingers caressing the curve of her back, causing her body to tense uncomfortably. Gomez seethed, as the noises and sights of the busy room faded back into his consciousness, breaking the spell.

 

“I must leave now,” he murmured, ostensibly to Hector, although his eyes never left Morticia’s face. He drained his glass quickly, patted Hector on the shoulder and strode with purpose from the room, through the nearest set of doors he could find, with only one thing driving him now; to put as much distance as possible between himself and the sight of Morticia with another. Unbeknownst to him, that same black magic pull that had drawn him to her now came over Morticia herself, as if the dark angels and all their wicked sprites were conspiring to bring these two together once and for all, never mind which of them they had to lead to follow the other. Morticia gently extracted herself from Philae’s embrace, and nodded politely, excusing herself. Her beau appeared briefly put-out, but manners won out, and he inclined his head gracefully, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her from the dance floor, losing her almost immediately amongst the sea of dark-clothed patrons milling around, as if it were by Morticia’s design. She herself was grateful for the distance between them as she headed silently for the imposing front doors, and freedom. 

Upon stepping out into the blissfully dark, cool night air, she took her first deep breath of the night, and tried to gather her thoughts. Her head was spinning with confusion, lust and revulsion, disloyalty and desperation. She raised her head and beheld her family’s loyal valet, standing next to the family’s town car, door open and keys in hand, as if he had known what the mistress’ next command would be. 

“I saw which way Mr Addams headed, Miss,” he intoned, casting her a knowing look. 

“Thank you, William,” Morticia replied softly, relieved that the decision had been taken from her, in a manner of speaking. It would be terribly rude to William to for him to have gone to the trouble of fetching the car and preparing to escort her, only for Morticia to say no, she reasoned as she stepped inside the car. The door closed behind her, and in no time they were deep in the forest-covered hills, mist swirling around at ankle-height and a dark foreboding in the air. A storm was coming, she could tell, as crackles of electricity ran down her spine, causing her to visibly shiver in anticipation. Her favourite weather. Dark, gloomy, cool. Electric. It promised something.

“We’re here.”

William’s polite tone interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up, startled to discover they had stopped. It could only be described as the middle of nowhere, and Morticia began to wonder if she had missed the part where they had driven through a portal to another realm en route. They were atop a wind-swept, heather covered hill, surrounded by wild moors and howling winds. In the near distance, Morticia was thrilled to see the crumbling stone ruins of an old hunting lodge, perched on the edge of the moorland. Wild flowers and thorns grew with wild abandon around the edifice, and from her vantage point, Morticia could see in the next valley over, a glorious thunderstorm already devastating the countryside. The wind whipped her hair violently, and she stood for a moment, lost in the bliss that only a storm could bring her, noting with satisfaction that the direction of the wind meant that wonderful storm would soon pass over this very hill. She turned to William, and nodded, a polite dismissal. She wished him a safe journey homewards, and he happily took his leave. He was protective of every member of the Frump family, but he knew that, although the youngest, Morticia was probably the one who needed the least protecting. She was in her element, and he knew, as well as she did, that Gomez himself was standing in the midst of the crumbling lodge, awaiting her arrival. The difference being that Morticia knew this innately, William had been the only one who had seen the Addams’ town car parked further down the hill as they’d passed. She would be more than fine.


	4. Chapter 4

Morticia began the short walk through the heather to that place yonder, that had such indescribable pull. She didn’t know if it was the weather, the mist-filled darkness, or the somehow certain knowledge that he would be there, but she had never been drawn to a place quite as strongly as this. Her long black lace and chiffon gown snagged and tore on thorns and thistles as she walked purposefully on, blissful unaware of the tatters of fabric swirling around her ankles, nor the red patterns left scratched onto her flawless skin by Mother Nature. She was close enough now to pick out that undeniably attractive silhouette, lit every now and again by bright flashes from the storm moving ever closer across the valley. He was leaning roguishly against the stone wall, watching the storm through one of the few still-standing window frames that made up the broken structure. His hair, usually so perfectly coiffed, was tousled as wildly as was hers, and as she stepped through the remains of what was once the threshold, she shuddered with unspoken lust for this hot-blooded Castilian.

“Gomez,” she whispered, relishing the feeling of his name on her lips. There was no way he could have heard her, and yet he turned in that instant. Those sultry eyes held her gaze steadily as he strode towards her, now needing no invitation to place his arms around her slender waist, dipping her low and relishing the coming thunderstorm. Morticia felt herself falling, yet showed no fear, only complete trust and love. No words were spoken, none were needed. Gomez once again lifted his beloved, holding her waist and offering his hand to hers. Together they danced amongst the ruins, to the sound of thunder, gales and approaching driving rain. After who knew how many hours, their sultry waltz came to a natural end, Morticia dipped in Gomez’s strong arms once again, her hands clinging to his neck, both breathing deep, heavy, fast. A flash of lightning illuminated her bewitching eyes, and Gomez felt his arms tighten around her waist, almost for fear of dropping her, suddenly fully aware of the depth of his feelings for her. He pulled her up into a fierce embrace, his lips pressed firmly against the soft skin of her neck, testing the boundaries of their newly-acquired intimacy as he scratched her flesh with his teeth, biting harder than he had intended as her long nails dug into his shoulders and she hissed and gasped in pleasure. This was the women for him, not a single doubt.

After an all-to-brief eternity wherein desperate lips, fingernails and teeth covered every inch of exposed skin – bar the mouth; that most intimate of goals lay forbidden for now, through some unspoken agreement between them – Gomez felt Morticia begin to grow tired in his arms. The countless hours since she had woken, the lifetime’s worth of emotion and turmoil and desire she had experienced since locking eyes with Gomez across the dance floor were now taking their toll. He caressed her face, his immediate and undeniable lust for her partially sated now that he had marked her flawless skin with his teeth, marking her as his own.

“You’re tired, cara mia,” he murmured gently. She responded solely with a nod, her focus elsewhere as she forcefully traced her name over his shoulder, happy in the knowledge that when he undressed, he would be branded as hers and hers alone. Gomez grimaced as he felt her nails break his skin. Morticia felt a pang of guilt at his shudder, before relaxing upon taking in the rapturous expression passing across his handsome face, his eyes closed in ecstasy. So, he liked pain. That would be useful to know. Morticia smiled, stifling a yawn. She wasn’t ready for this night to end, not by a long shot, but her body was betraying her, and her mind becoming as foggy as the ground on which they stood.

“Allow me to make you comfortable, querida,” Gomez said, finally. With a final kiss on her soft neck, he made his way over to the crumbling stone wall which had once separated the vast kitchen from the dining hall. There, in recess where the lodge’s fire had once burned intensely day and night, now grew a wild patch of fragrant heathers, mixed with thorn bushes and thistles. A perfect bed for his dark one. He removed his outer coat, relishing the cold that suddenly struck to his very bones, yet still unable to quell his burning desire for the women who stood not five feet away from him at that very moment, whose name was now engraved on his shoulder by her own doing. He folded his jacket, placing it as a pillow, and stood back, turning to extend his hand to Morticia. She placed her delicate fingers on his, and allowed herself to be lead over to her makeshift bed. Her exhaustion was now almost overwhelming, and she could manage nothing but a weak smile and whispered thanks as he lay her down, kneeling by her side. The second her head touched the pillow, her eyes were closed, cruelly hidden from his view, and the pale hand that had been in the midst of reaching out to stroke his face, merely came to rest by her side. Gomez smiled ruefully, shaking his head, and allowing himself a little curse of frustration as his desire to attend to her need for rest tussled with his lust for her, and he silently bid her to wake again. For a full hour he sat, watching her beautiful face, now still as stone, her breathing barely visible, as she slept. When he was satisfied that her features were now burned on his memory, that when he closed his eyes, the only thing he could see was his beloved, he rose to his feet once again. 

“Buenos noches, mi alma,” he whispered, before striding around the far side of the wall, settling himself amongst the ruins in the long grasses that made his resting place for the night. He wanted to be sleeping by Morticia’s side, so dearly, but he knew his urges would overpower his sense of propriety, and at least here, although separated only by the ruins of a wall, he could hide his lusts in the darkness and the storm, now on their doorstep. 

 

Before now, his youthful fantasies as he lay in bed, half dreaming of some nameless lass, fulfilling his every need, his thoughts had seemed quite crude, wrong almost. It was to be expected, he was a man, with hormones, desires and needs. But back then, before he had laid eyes on his beloved, this woman he had dreamed of had been half formed, out of focus. She had dark, flowing hair and an electrifying touch, that he knew. But now as he lay far too far away from Morticia, storms raging overhead and gales blowing wildly outside the crumbling walls, his fantasy suddenly had focus, a face, a name. Even before he’d met her, his conscious had desired her so desperately. Maybe he had dreamed her into life. He felt a familiar stirring in his loins, and permitted a small groan to escape his lips, knowing any sound would be taken by the storm long before it reached Morticia’s ears. His mind was racing, uncontrolled now, there was no stopping his imagination now that he knew his fantasy was come to life, separated from him by only an ancient stone wall. And those dark, sexual thoughts no longer seemed crude, not now he knew for certain that as much as his body craved her in every way possible, his heart could imagine treating her with nothing but the most respectful tenderness, if only he were ever lucky enough to have her share his bed. He allowed his strong fingers to press down onto his chest, travelling downwards, relishing the pain, his eyes firmly shut, lost in his dreams of her touch, her cries of pleasure mixed with the howl of the wind whistling through the ruins in which they both lay. “Morticia...” he moaned, louder this time, half smiling as a crash of thunder heralded the arrival of heavy rain beating down upon him.

“Oui, Gomez?”

His eyes flew open, his momentary embarrassment almost instantly forgotten as he adjusted to the gloom, and beheld the most sublime creature in existence. His fantasy come to life. There Morticia stood, clad in nothing – it seemed – but his coat, her dark eyes fixed on him, burning with desire, and an amused smile playing about her lips. She was well aware, of course, of what she had interrupted, and the knowledge that the mere thought of her was enough to turn this brilliant, handsome man into a hopeless, lust-driven beast was a euphoric feeling.


	5. Chapter 5

“Tish...” Gomez’s voice caught in his throat, unwillingly shortening her name, the first utterance of the nickname that from then on would only be spoken by him. “I apolog...”

“Do carry on, mon cher,” Morticia raised an arched brow, her gaze locked on his, never faltering.

Gomez swallowed hard, trying to force his body to behave for just a moment, to quell the concupiscence consuming his whole being, perhaps to re-divert some of his blood back to his brain, ever so briefly. Morticia sank to her knees by his side, keen to lessen his discomfort and tension. She was somewhat pleased at the effect she had on him – the gods knew she sympathised with the feeling of all-consuming desire for someone and the inability to think of anything but his pleasure – but she didn’t want to feel that she controlled him. No, she just wanted him as much as he did her and she would show him. Heavy raindrops thundered all around, drenching the paramours to the skin, thunder and lightening warring overhead.

“Or, perhaps I can help you?” purred Morticia, tracing her hand down his chest, her sharp nails skilfully making short work of the buttons on his shirt. She delighted in the rain trickling down his exposed skin, unsure whether it was the cool water or his want for her which caused goosebumps and visible shivers to wrack his body. She had no need to fight with his buckle, he had already removed that particular obstacle, and her deft fingers slid under his waistband, guided by his hand wrapped around her wrist. Turning her head to look him quite deliberately in the eye as she traced over his hard pleasure, she allowed his coat that she wore to slide down a little, exposing her bare shoulders. A bolt of lightening struck down in the valley below, and Gomez was satisfied to see that he had been right; she had been wearing nothing underneath. Her skilled fingers teased and taunted him, a sight unseen beneath his clothing still, but by the gods, did it feel beyond anything he had ever felt before. Surely to feel this much pleasure was unhuman.

“Ahh Morticia, te deseo, my love, please, I need...”

Gomez’s usually clipped Castilian accent was noticeably thicker, more pronounced, Morticia noted with glee. She loved the sound of his voice, his oaths of pleasure and sharp cursing in Spanish as he murmured words of love and lust over and over to her, Spanish, English and Italian falling from his lips in a rush. If this was how she could draw out that glorious dialect, bringing him to the brink of ecstasy, then that is what she would do each and every night for the rest of time.

“My darling, I cannot hold back much longer,” Gomez whispered, gazing at her through heavily-lidded eyes, his fine brow creased. Morticia nodded in understanding. She wanted him so desperately, that she didn’t need to be told twice. As the wind whipped and howled around them, whistling through the ruins, Morticia made quick work of removing Gomez’s lower clothing, and allowing her coat to fall open completely. Gomez was writhing amongst the bed of heather and grasses, and she was captivated. Strong hands gripped her hips, and she acquiesced, throwing her leg over to straddle him without hesitation. There was no ceremony, no slowing down now. Gomez was almost feverish in his lusts, and the storm raging on did little to cool him down. The second Morticia was astride him, Gomez was driven inside her; a sensation so sublime that is forced the first ever uttered ‘I love you’ from his lips before he realised what had happened.

Morticia gasped and whimpered in reply, the look in her eyes telling him all he needed to know. Red-painted nails traced the words over his chest as she moved with him, her body at one with his rhythm and his needs. Neither could hold out for much longer, it was clear to both, nor did either wish to. To have had this moment kept from them for so long had been exquisite torture, and now their reward was so close.

As the storm grew to its heady, rapturous climax, Morticia threw back her head, arching her back as she finally gave Gomez the permission he’d needed to come. Hands, fingers and nails gripped and dug in to thighs, hips, strong arms as Gomez and Morticia both screamed and cried their orgasm into the thundering skies. Wild thrusts and loud moans gave way to gentle rocking together, whispers of love and satiation as Morticia collapsed against Gomez’s chest, her face buried in his neck, her lips seeking out his fevered skin, each declaration of love he made to her acknowledged with a kiss. 

 

***

 

Gomez reached out to cup Morticia’s cheek, raising her head to his as the gentle post-storm rains caressed and cooled their skin, still burning and drenched in sweat. The intensity of the storm had passed over yonder, and now was a perfect calm blackness, the air no longer muggy, but fresh and cool. The rain storm and the passion of their love-making between them had cleansed Morticia’s beautiful face of any remaining vestige of make up, and her usually perfectly-placed hair now lay tousled and untidy, framing her face, spread out over Gomez’s shoulders as she lay nestled against his chest. She rarely – well, never really – appeared without her make up and hair perfected, she felt vulnerable without it. But now, she saw herself through Gomez’s eyes, and had never felt so beautiful, so appreciated… so adored. She closed her eyes, and moved her lips towards his, feeling his arms tighten protectively around her waist as their shared their first kiss upon the mouth. So much passion, unbridled lust, so many shuddering orgasms, so many kisses rained down upon every spare expanse of flesh, had passed between them that night. Yet it was only now, in that rain-soaked blissful dream state, entwined in each other, that they allowed that most intimate gesture of love to pass between them. Gone were the playful, frustrated nips and bites and scratches of the past hour, all that was left now 1`was true, tender adoration. Finally they were one and the same and nothing else in this world nor the one after could part them.

_‘I hope this moment never ends. Finally he’s mine, only mine.’_

_‘So this is what love is. To know she’s mine, only mine.’_


End file.
